by Lacey Black
Steeling my back, I face Latham’s father. “Thank you, Mr. Douglas. I’d love a few moments to speak with him.” My anger sweeps back in like a mini tornado, ready to pummel and damage whatever stands in its path.
And that path is leading me to Latham.
“Up those stairs back there. He rarely locks the door,” Bud says, a small smile on his face as he continues to price whatever new product is in the box without giving me a second glance.
“Thank you,” I state as I move around the counter and head toward the stairs. As I ascend quietly, I can hear Bud humming a happy little tune. I keep my movements light, not wanting to tip Latham off to a visitor just yet. I prefer the element of surprise, which is why I find myself gently turning the knob on the door and happy to find it unlocked – as speculated.
I quietly push open the door and step inside the tiny kitchen that opens to a small living room. There’s not much room to maneuver, and I can’t help but wonder how a man as big as Latham moves around in this itty-bitty apartment. Sound filters from another room, letting me know he is, indeed, home. Before I have a chance to close the door, his words find their way to where I stand. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as realization sets in.
He’s humming.
He’s humming Tammy Wynette.
The same song that just so happened to be blasting through my shop for the last four hours.
Yeah, I’m going to kill him.
I grab the door behind me and give it a good, hard slam. The force rattles the walls and can probably be heard by Bud and any of the customers downstairs, but I don’t care. All I care about right now is injuring the asshole who messed with my laptop and ensured I had a shit-tastic day.
Stomping my feet with each step I take, I head toward the place where I heard him humming. As I round the corner, I hit a wall. No, not a wall, really. This wall is large and hard and reaches out to grab my arms. I hold out my arms to steady myself and encounter hot, wet flesh.
“Harper?” he asks, but his words barely register. I’m staring at Latham, fresh from a shower and wearing a towel.
Yeah, I know you’re picturing it too.
My jaw unhinges, I just know it, but I don’t care. My eyes feast on his chiseled torso, the mouthwatering tattoo, his eight-pack abs, and that delicious V at his hips that disappears beneath the towel. And the bulge. Let’s not forget about the way the towel practically wraps around his cock like a hug. A hug I wouldn’t mind giving it.
With my mouth.
He must sense where my mind is because that big, thick cock jumps beneath the terrycloth and starts to grow. Within a matter of seconds, it tents the towel and points directly at me as if begging to be played with. And I’ll be damned if I don’t want to wrap my hands around it and give it a few friendly strokes.
Then, I hear him chuckle.
Suddenly, I remember exactly why I’m here and it isn’t to play with his magnificent cock. Instead, I should be wrapping my hands around his neck. “See something you like?”
“I see something I’d love to chop off with a plastic knife,” I growl, finally returning my eyes to his.
“Sounds kinky, Sweetheart. Did you come over here to help me shower or should we skip the shower and go straight to sex?” he asks, leaning his broad (and still wet) shoulder against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, casually.
“I came over here to kill you. Do you want your mom to have an open or closed casket?” I snarl, holding my eyes on his sparkling brown ones.
“You’re giving me a choice?” he asks, smiling brightly.
“For your mom.”
He snorts a laugh. “So what brings you over here in the middle of the day, spunky Harper?”
“Tammy. Wynette.” I make sure to throw in a little extra female dramatics and pause between the first and last name.
“Tammy, huh? Isn’t she dead?”
“You’ll be seeing her very soon. Well, probably not. You’re going to hell for your stupid childish pranks.”
“Childish?” Yes, his eyes light up with humor. I want to punch him in the face.
“Childish!” I yell, letting my frustration and anger for him get the best of me. “You cost me sales! The music was so fucking loud no one wanted to shop. They all left thinking I was trying to torture them with bad country music!”
“You wouldn’t know good music if it hit you upside the head,” he chastises. “It’s a thousand times better than that boy band bullshit you listen to.”
I throw my hands in the air. “You’re impossible! And frustrating! And completely…impossible!”
“You said that already. I like to think it’s part of my charm,” he teases with a wink.
Yes, he winks.
So I punch him in the chest.
“Ouch!” I holler, shaking my hand and infuriating me even further. He laughs, so I slap him across the arm. My palm instantly starts to sting, making my eyes water. Shaking my hand, I glare daggers at the asshole whose hard stupid muscles just injured me.
“Well, stop hitting me, Sweetheart,” he chides.
“Stop calling me Sweetheart!” I yell as I launch myself at him.
Suddenly, I’m wrapped in his arms and our mouths are fused together. My legs snake around his waist, the apex of my legs rubbing over his thick erection. The kiss is hungry, passionate, and full of desire. His mouth is everything I want, but more accurately, everything I remember.
Latham’s hands rip at my shirt, exposing my heated, wet flesh. I suck on his tongue, drawing a deep growl from his gut that vibrates through my bloodstream and lands between my legs. He turns and pins me against the wall, his large hands gripping at my ass and holding me steady against his body. His tongue sweeps into my mouth at the same time his cock thrusts upward, sliding against my swollen pussy and eradicating a loud gasp from my lungs.
He moves a hand without breaking the connection of our mouths and raises my shirt once more. His hand is hot against my flesh as he pushes it all up and exposes my soaked bra. Thank God I wore one of my favorite red lace bra and panty sets today, not that it matters. I’m pretty sure anything I wear would look the same thrown on the floor.
His mouth rips from mine, and I suck in huge lungsful of sweet oxygen. That is until his hot mouth dips down and grazes across my breasts. My nipples are hard, pebbled against the coarse material, and begging for his mouth. He reads my mind and with one hand, pulls down one of the cups of my bra. With his dark eyes locked on mine, his tongue slips out and swipes across the ring in my nipple at the exact same time he rubs his cock against my center.
“Latham,” I gasp, my eyes rolling back in my head at the onslaught of sensation.
“Tell me to stop, Harper. Tell me and I will,” he whispers, his voice low and gravelly.
I don’t even have to consider it. I know what I want. “Don’t stop. Please,” I beg.
His eyes turn black as realization sets in. He pauses, holding my gaze for confirmation. Instead of giving him words, I fuse my lips to his, thrusting my tongue into his mouth and tasting him once more. He’s a hit to my system, a shot of alcohol on an empty stomach. He affects me in a way no other man ever has.
My back is pressed against the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist, when he pulls my shirt the rest of the way over my head, the wet material slapping against the floor. The moment it’s gone, his lips are back on mine, devouring me and leaving me completely breathless. There’s something so magical about his kisses that has always made me feel wanted – and not because of my face or my body – because of me. Even when he was horrible to me back in school, when we pushed aside all the torture and teasing, I felt like I was the only one he saw.
Especially that night.
That one amazing night.
Latham places his large hand on my breast, cupping it and toying with the metal ring. My body zings with desire, with passion, as I close my eyes and let all those sensations wash over me. “I’m going to set you down and take off your wet pan
ts. If you don’t want me to, say the word.” His voice is deep and gruff, just the way I remember it.
My eyes meet his. “Hurry up, Latham.” My words hold a bite, a demand.
Things happen quickly after that. He sets me on the floor and before I can shimmy out of my wet work pants, he has his hands on the closure, unbuttoning them and sliding them down my legs. My sandals are gone too, and suddenly, I’m standing in nothing but my red lace panty set. “Fucking hell,” he groans, his eyes feasting on my body. “Do you always wear this beneath your clothes?” he asks, standing completely still and devouring me with his eyes.
“Who else is going to ensure the product I sell is comfortable, sexy, and worth the cost?”
“So fucking sexy,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around my hip and bringing me flush against his body. “For the rest of my life, every time I see you, I’ll be imagining what sexy little surprise you’re wearing beneath your clothes.”
His hand slides around to my backside, cupping my bare ass cheek. I can feel his erection sandwiched between us, feel every jolt of electricity that zips through my body as my nipples drag against the lace bra. My entire body is on fire, and if I don’t feel him inside me soon, I think I might explode. “Latham?”
“Yeah?” he whispers.
“Lose the towel.”
His eyes burn bright as he reaches down and drops the towel. His erection – then, impressive for an eighteen-year-old boy, is nothing compared to the man he grew to be. Thirty-two-year-old Latham is all man, from his rock-hard, chiseled body, to his thick, long cock. He’s the one fantasies are made from, and right now, he’s a walking dream come true.
Without removing my eyes from his cock, I shimmy out of my panties – they’re soaked and useless anyway. He reaches around and unclasps my bra, leaving us both completely naked. We both stare, drinking in the sight of the other’s body, as if committing it to memory. I have a perfect recollection of that one night so many years ago, but it pales in comparison to how I feel right now.
His mouth descends on mine once more, hot and hungry and full of need. I’m backed against the wall, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me against him. He lifts at the same time I jump, my legs finding a comfortable place around his trim hips. It also lines his cock up perfectly for where I ache. My body hums with anticipation as he slides against me, coating himself in my wetness.
Then he moves, his dick lining up and pushing inside. My body stretches to accommodate him, almost to the point of pain, reminding me it has been a while. Well, that and the fact Latham is much bigger than my last three boyfriends.
When he’s fully seated, we both still and exhale a long, deep breath. Then, as if something lights the fuse, we move. He pulls back, his hands gripping my ass, and slams forward, sending my body into hypersensitive overdrive. I feel everything: his hands, his cock, his breathing. And now, I feel his lips, as he finally leans forward and kisses me. It’s a hard, determined kiss, full of pent-up desire and maybe even a little frustration. We’re like oil and gasoline, never mixing well, but dangerously explosive when they finally meet.
He continues to press me firmly into the wall, while his masterful cock brings me closer and closer to release with each thrust of his hips. I can feel my body climbing higher as an orgasm barrels down on me. Using the wall as leverage, Latham reaches around and cups my breast. When I’m least expecting it, he pushes upward and pinches my nipple ring. The double sensation has me calling out, I’m not even sure what. My brain sort of liquefies with each thrust of his hips, each tug of my ring. It’s too much, yet not enough at the same time.
When he stills completely, I realize my eyes are closed. They open to find his piercing me, searching my face as if memorizing this look, this moment. My heart does something in my chest I don’t like. Him. I don’t like him. Yes, I’m currently having sex with him, but that’s because he’s hot. Other than that, he’s infuriating and impossible. He rigs my laptop to play stupid country music on repeat, and then has the audacity to show up in a towel when I confront him.
Okay, fine, maybe I’m the one who showed up – unannounced – but whatever… I forgot where I was going with this.
“This won’t happen again,” I tell him, holding his gaze and giving him my best I-mean-business look.
He smirks and swirls his hips, making my eyes almost roll back in my head. “Oh, Sweetheart, this most certainly will happen again.”
“So cocky,” I grumble, moving my own hips in search of a little friction. When he’s holding me against the wall, my legs wrapped around him, there’s not much I can do to initiate continuing our sex-capades.
“You want my what?”
“Shut up,” I gasp when he pushes so far inside me I feel his hipbones jab my thighs.
“And…”
Rolling my eyes, I keep my mouth shut, pressing my chest into his in search of sweet contact.
“Say it,” he whispers, leaning forward and running his nose along my jaw. He holds me completely still, my body so taut with desire I think I might actually explode if he doesn’t move soon.
“No.” I’m holding out just a little longer.
And then he bends down, raises me up just enough to keep the tip of his cock inside of me, and sucks my nipple ring into his mouth. “Say it,” he growls against my flesh, his tongue toying with the bead and lapping at my nipple.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My head falls back against the wall as pleasure races through me, desperately searching for the finish line. A song spills from my lips as he licks and sucks, licks and sucks. My internal muscles flex against the head of his cock, begging for more. He knows I’m close, yet refuses to give me exactly what I want – what I need.
“Say it, Harper.”
I gasp as he tugs on the ring with his teeth. An invisible line strung from my breast to my pussy pulls tight. I can’t take anymore. I’m desperate, and he knows it. “Fuck me, Latham. Now.”
He growls, his mouth vibrating around my nipple. “Fuck yes. It would be my pleasure,” he roars as he grips my ass hard and thrusts upward, sucking hard on my ring. The combination sends me soaring, flying over the edge of pleasure and freefalling into pure bliss. Latham is right there, grabbing at his own release with each powerful thrust of his hips. My body latches on tight, refusing to let go, as wave after wave of pleasure courses through my body.
A moan spills from his lips as he brings them to mine and sweeps his tongue into my mouth. His body begins to slow as he releases himself inside me, mimicking his movements with his tongue. When his body finally stills, we sag together, sweaty and sated, against the wall. He continues to hold me up, but I’m not sure how. I’m deadweight at the moment. There’s no way my legs would hold me if he put me down.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he turns toward the open door behind us and climbs onto the made bed. Even though it’s not even two in the afternoon, my eyes are heavy and my body ripples with exhaustion. I don’t even argue when he snuggles against me, his warm, hard body actually quite soft and comfortable. My neck moves to the crook of his arm as he gently shifts us into position. His cock (did I mention how large and magnificent it is?) falls free from my body. At first I don’t even register the wetness. In fact, my brain function is nil, so I don’t quite register it at all. It isn’t until he speaks that the force of what we just did hits me.
“Uhh, Harper?”
“Mmmm,” I mumble, trying to ignore his words and snuggle into his embrace.
“Sweetheart, wake up. I didn’t use a condom.” His words are like an electric jolt to the system. My eyes fly open and I turn to look at his concerned face. “I’m sorry, I’ve never forgotten before.”
“I’m on the pill,” I tell him, thinking back to my last annual exam and testing. “I had a test at the beginning of the year when I broke up with Joey. I know I’m clean.”
The vein at his temple pulses. “I fucking hate you had to get tested because your boyfriend couldn’t keep
his dick in his pants.”
I shrug, worming my way back into the comfort of his body. “He’s a stupid mistake. I don’t want to talk about him,” I reply through my yawn.
Latham wraps his arms around my shoulder, holding me close. “I’m clean too. I was tested in the Army, and it’s been a while since I was with someone.”
That piques my interest. “Define a while,” I coax.
He sighs, his warm breath fanning against my forehead. “About a year and a half.”
“Really?” I ask, a bit shocked by this revelation. I mean, Latham is hot – when he’s not running his mouth – and clearly knows what he’s doing in the bedroom department. Or wall department, would be more accurate.
“Yeah, I didn’t date much in the military. I was gone too much for that shit. I had a short-term girlfriend for a while, but during my last deployment, we ended it. It was too hard on her to be back in the U.S., while I was off on some foreign soil I could barely talk about. Plus, the time zone difference made communicating difficult. We decided on ending things by email.”
I don’t know why, but that makes me laugh. “I’m sure that was hard on both of you,” I add with a yawn.
“I’ll show you something hard later. First, rest.” He kisses my forehead and sets his stubbly jaw against me.
I can hear minimal noise from downstairs, and even though Bud said it was well-insulated, a part of me is praying like hell Latham’s dad and whoever else was downstairs didn’t just hear him pound me into the drywall like a nail.
I really should get up. I should find my clothes and head back to my store. Free is there, sure, but she’s not expecting me to be gone for half the afternoon – especially for the reason I’m not there. In fact, she’s probably starting to get a little worried I killed him and am trying to dispose of the body. She’d be the first one to help shovel (best friends are awesome like that).
That reminds me… “I hate Tammy Wynette.”